To Be A Machine
by YouLookLikeFOOD
Summary: What happened to the heroes after Judgement Day.
1. Wren

She ran.

She couldn't fight; she'd long ago run out of ammo, and her fists were ineffectual against metal, as the scars on her knuckles proved.

So she ran. She kept running as the machine followed her.

Bullets tore up the ground behind her, throwing dust into the air. She swore and pushed her legs harder, though they were already screaming with effort.

The heavy clunking behind her kept her legs in rhythm. If she ran three steps for every _clunk, _she should be able to outrun it.

That was, if she found a place to run _to. _The scarce trees around her would only provide a temporary hiding place, and there was no where else she could see. There was nothing.

The sound of gunfire rang through the air again, and she focused on running again. Her lungs were demanding a rest, but she could not give it to them. She couldn't give them the oxygen they needed. She couldn't give her cracked throat the water she craved; she could do nothing but run, and keep _running _until the thing behind her gave up.

But it would never give up. They never gave up. They were machines; they didn't need the rest that humans did.

And then he appeared. He seemed to come from nowhere; simply materializing in front of her.

She didn't stop running. She just ran past him, grabbing his arm and pulling him.

"RUN!" She screamed, not trying to give another explanation.

His eyes burned into hers as he remained, standing there without fear. She kept running, pulling his arm, but he brushed her off casually.

"What happened?" He demanded.

"M-M-Machine!" She gasped out, doubled over, trying to re-gain her breath. Each second she spent here was a precious second she needed to spend running.

An emotion flashed in his eyes that she never expected. It wasn't fear. It wasn't anger.

It was _annoyance. _

Was that all she was to him? An annoying little pest?

_Well, excuse me for trying to save your worthless hide!_ She mentally screamed at him, but she could say nothing through her furious gasping.

A gleam of silver in the trees ahead told her the machine had caught up to her. She groaned softly and tried to run again, but the man had his hand wrapped around her wrist.

Panic welled up inside her. Instinct took over, and she threw a blow at his shoulder. He barely seemed to notice.

The machine came out from behind the trees. She kept hitting the man, now desperate for him to release her.

The machine's glowing red eyes locked on the two of them. The gun in its hands rose slightly.

She threw another blow into the man's arm, and he shrugged her off. His hand landed on her shoulder and shoved her to the ground, where she landed painfully.

She waited for death to come. Her legs simply wouldn't respond to her commands. They remained on the floor, motionless.

The man walked towards the machine. Bullets flew through the air…

And stopped.

She stared. The bullets had frozen in mid-flight in front of the man.

"Every time I dispose of one of you, another one pops up in its place." The man said. "It's getting rather tiresome."

The machine rapidly tried to deal with this new information.

"Don't bother sending info about me to your little friends back at base." He continued. "We have a man jamming your communicators as we speak."

He smiled, a smile that could only be described as cruel.

And he ran to the machine. His fist flew to its face. It blocked it with one metal arm, probably breaking bone. Blood oozed through the man's fingers.

He gripped the arm and pulled, tearing it away from the machine. His fist flew into its chest, causing wires to send sparks flying into the air.

He was merciless to the thing as it collapsed to the ground. His foot slammed into its head, and the glowing red eyes dimmed.

The man stood, glowering at the machine. He brushed the dust off his clothes, noting the blood on his hands with only minor curiosity.

He turned to her, and she felt a whimper escape through her teeth.

But his eyes were kind as he extended a hand. "Are you all right?"

She nodded, taking his hand. He helped her to her feet, though her legs ached with the effort. She felt as though she would collapse at any second.

He looked at her skeptically. "Are you sure you're ok?"

She nodded, trying to blow off his concern, but her knee gave slightly, ruining any hope for an illusion.

One of his eyebrows shot up.

She let out a nervous giggle, her lungs still straining for any breath of oxygen she could get. "I was just… running for a long time."

He smiled very softly. "Need any help?"

She smiled weakly back. "That would be great… thanks…"

He smiled. "No problem."

He allowed her to place an arm around his shoulders. She prepared herself, getting ready to limp to his destination, one he obviously had. However, he had other plans. Rolling his eyes, he leaned over and lifted her legs out from under her, cradling her against his chest, much to her embarrassment and protests.

He chuckled as she glared at him indignantly. "Relax. It's not that far, but you're not going to get anywhere when your legs hurt that badly."

"They don't hurt _that _badly…" She started to protest, but he just chuckled again and started walking.

She turned instead to ignoring him, trying to pretend he wasn't there. It wasn't easy. He was, after all, carrying her.

"So… what's your name?" He asked, unashamed.

She blushed and looked away from him. To answer him would be giving forgiveness.

You're not going to tell me anything?"

"Nothing to tell." She muttered.

He chuckled. "Well, you just saw me demolish a machine that you thought was indestructible, and now I'm carrying you to some unknown location. There must be _something _on your mind."

She bit her lip. She'd almost forgotten the entire incident with the machine. Probably because she _wanted _to forget. She couldn't make sense of it; therefore she didn't want to try.

So instead, she answered his first question. "My name is Wren."

He smiled. "Well, it's nice to meet you, 'Wren'. I'm Sylar."

"Like the watch?" As soon as the words were out of her mouth, her cheeks burned with embarrassment. What was _wrong _with her? She couldn't keep her thoughts straight.

But he chuckled. "Exactly like the watch." He agreed.

They were silent for a minute.

Finally, Sylar stopped. She breathed a sigh of relief and waited for him to set her down, but he seemed to have no intention of doing so.

"You've been running for a long time." He said, his tone indicating that he was trying not to laugh. He seemed to have guessed her thoughts. "I don't think you should walk for a while."

He dug a hold in the sand with his shoe, and the sand fell down a small grate. He smiled.

"It's me, Tracy." He called. "Open up."

"Password?" An eye came up through the grate.

"Does anyone ever poke it?" Wren asked, blushing again at her big mouth.

Sylar laughed. "Not recently." He whispered to her. And then, louder, "C'mon, Trace. Open up. I've found another survivor."

"I still need the password."

He rolled his eyes. "Enterprise. Now let me in."

"Indeedeedoo." The eye disappeared.

"Enterprise?" Wren inquired.

"Trace is the only one who can open the door. Therefore, she gets to make up the password. She's also a huge Trekkie, so…" he shrugged.

Wren smiled weakly. It was strange, but she suddenly felt very tired.

She didn't see the huge column of Earth rise up from the ground. She didn't see the world change from dry, harsh desert, into cool, underground city. Her eyes were closed, and her breathing fell into a steady rhythm.

Sylar smiled and kept walking.

"She looks tired." Tracy mused.

Sylar rolled his eyes. "Go back and guard the door." He snapped, but it was more playful teasing then anything else. Tracy stuck her tongue out at him, but did as instructed.

Sylar kept walking, hardly noticing the extra weight in his arms. He walked purposefully, his exact destination already formed in his mind.

It didn't take him long to find the room he was looking for. He walked inside without knocking; he knew the person inside wouldn't mind.

"Good grief!" A voice sounded out. Sylar placed Wren on the small bed in the room. "What happened to her?"

"She was out in the desert for a while." Sylar replied. "I don't know how long. Could have been days."

A woman walked in front of him, nearly pushing him out of the way. Her eyes were lined with a few wrinkles, and her brown hair was streaked with grey.

She placed a hand on Wren, sighing. "Days?" She asked incredulously. "More like weeks! She's been running steadily for a couple of days, I'll grant you that, but she's been out here for ages!"

She hurriedly walked to another side of the room, returning with an ice pack and a glass of water.

"What did she act like? Was she overly hyper? Did she seem forgetful at all?"

Unsatisfied with his inability to answer her questions as quickly as she could ask them, she placed her hand on his arm.

Her eyes widened. "Ah. Yes. That would explain her lack of a reaction to your destruction of that Terminator." She sighed heavily. "Well, there's nothing for it. Your girl's going to have to stay here for a few days. Get some rest."

She released his arm, and Sylar walked over to Wren's limp form. "What's her ability?"

The woman froze. A puzzled look crossed her face.

"I'm not sure." She replied hesitantly. Carefully, she walked back to Wren's side, placing her hand delicately on her arm.

She backed away, her eyes even wider then before. She swore once, in French, then whispered, _"Impossible!_"

Sylar looked at her. "What? What is it?"

The woman turned to him, her mouth gaping. "She's… she's _human._ She doesn't _have _an ability."

* * *

The council was called in emergencies only. These emergencies were rare, so the council was hardly needed.

So, naturally, everyone tried to listen in on the conversation behind the closed door.

Inside the room, Sylar rolled his eyes and walked to the door, wrenching it open and catching a few of them red-handed.

He towered over them. "Go." He ordered simply.

They didn't need to be told twice. As one, the heroes scattered away from the door, running as quickly as their legs could carry them.

Sylar rolled his eyes again and closed the door.

"We have to consider the implications of this human's existence!" Someone said as he sat back down. He didn't bother to check who it was.

"Implications? One human survives, big deal! It's a big planet!"

"What if there's _more _then one?"

"Here's a brilliant idea." Sylar snapped. "Why don't we ask Wren?"

A few heads turned in her direction.

"Wren?" Someone asked. Sylar looked at her, identifying her immediately as a telepath named Sharon.

"The human." He replied testily. "She has a _name, _if anyone had bothered to ask."

Mutters traveled around the room.

"What? Were you planning on calling her 'the human' for the entire meeting?" Sylar demanded.

"Look who's getting defensive of a human!" A man named Derek laughed.

Sylar glowered at him. "Forgive me for trying to do the right thing. I'll remember not to do that in the future."

Derek reacted to the veiled threat. "That supposed to be intimidating?"

"If it needs to be."

Derek's eyes darkened. "Aren't you on probation or something? I mean, didn't you kill the last 'survivor' we found?"

Sylar stiffened, anger blazing in his eyes. "You have no idea what you're messing with, kid."

"Who are you calling kid?" Derek demanded, his eyes glittering maliciously.

"The little asshole in front of me."

"Oh, you think that's funny, Brain Boy? I'll show you funny."

"Oh, no I think I have an idea. Right now, I'm imagining something absolutely hilarious; the day when you're alone, and not followed by all of your freaking goons. When that day comes, trust me, you'll be begging for death before I'm merciful enough to give it to you. And I'll be the one laughing then, sparky, believe me."

"ENOUGH!" Claire intervened at last as a bright light formed in Derek's hand. "I SAID ENOUGH! Sylar's morality- and the question of Derek's idiocy- is not at debate here! We are discussing _Wren, _remember?" Her eyes narrowed on the light in Derek's hand. "So _please. Enough!_"

Sylar smirked as Derek extinguished the light.

"Now." Claire's tone turned almost businesslike, and it was not too difficult to imagine her in a suit, carrying a briefcase. That was, if the walls weren't solid rock, and if there wasn't the constant taste of dust as it flew into your lungs. "Sylar was right. We need to ask Wren if she knows of any other survivors. We need her awake before we can say anything conclusively. Unless Grace has anything to add…?" She trailed off and gestured to the woman who had examined Wren after Sylar had brought her inside.

Grace sighed. "There isn't much to tell. She's been running for a very long time; she's simply exhausted. And overheated. We'll need to have Carrie keep the place as cold as possible for the next few days."

"Nothing else?"

She shook her head. "I'm afraid not."

Claire nodded slowly. "Parkman! What did she have on her?"

Matt pulled the list out from a stack of papers. "Not much. Water, a few food rations. She had a knife, though; and I don't mean one you'd find in a kitchen. More like a dagger. Three guns, all out of ammo, a doll, and a radio."

Claire's ears pricked. "A radio?"

"Before you ask, I already sent it to Micah. Kid looked like Christmas had come early."

Claire nodded. "All right. Anyone else have anything to say?" She glared at Derek. "_Besides _Derek?"

No one did.

* * *

Wren was cold.

In fact, she was _freezing._ She shivered.

"Carrie, I think that's enough of the ice." A soft, soothing voice whispered. "Thank you for your help."

Wren shivered again, and her fingers curled around something. Something soft and squishy.

She cracked open her eyes to find a small face staring back. A doll. Her doll.

A tear rolled down her cheek, and she closed her eyes once more, trying to escape into unconsciousness once more.

But, even though a soft, warm blanket was draped around her shoulders, even though the pillow beneath her head was perfect, even though she was exhausted, sleep would not return to her.

Finally, she opened her eyes.

The world was ice around her. The walls shone, their glassy surface sparkling like a thousand diamonds.

"You're awake." The soothing voice spoke again, tainted with a faint hint of surprise.

Wren slowly sat up. A woman came to her side. Her brown hair was streaked with silver, and her hands were slightly wrinkled, but there was a sparkle in her eyes that refused to die.

"Wh-Where's Sylar?" The words spilled from her quivering lips. Her hands were trembling. She wondered why she was so scared. She had no reason to be.

"He's on guard duty. He'll be back in a few minutes. I'm sure he'll be glad to see you awake; he's been somewhat worried about you."

She didn't know why that made her heart skip, why it made her smile slightly. She tried to push away the emotions; they only got in the way when you were fighting machines. She was surprised, now that she thought back on it, at her incredible lapse in this philosophy, when she'd been so incredibly embarrassed by Sylar carrying her here.

And where, exactly, was here? The last thing she remembered, Sylar had destroyed that Terminator, and they were coming to some unknown location, and that eye had looked up through the grate…

She froze. How could she have forgotten? How could she have been so stupid? Sylar had destroyed a Terminator. With his bare hands! It was impossible, unless he wasn't human.

What about this woman next to her? Undoubtedly inhuman as well. There were rumors of machines being built to look human. Now there was proof.

Wren gently felt around for her knife, but it was gone. She hadn't thought they would be so careless, anyway, but it would have been nice.

They'd taken the radio, too. It was undoubtedly smashed to pieces somewhere. There was her last link to the rebellion. Her last link to John Connor.

The fact made her heart ache, and once more she was forced to push the emotions aside. This was the time to think, not mourn for her losses.

One nagging question remained, though. Why had they left her the doll?

"Ah, there he is." The woman smiled. She walked to the doorway and called off to someone down the hallway. "Sylar! She's awake!"

She heard the gentle thudding of footsteps and waited patiently for their owner to arrive. Sylar entered the room and smiled as he saw her sitting up.

"Welcome back to the land of the living." He pulled a chair next to her bed and sat down. "How you feeling, kid?"

She raised an indignant eyebrow; she'd play the machine's little game, for now. "Kid?"

He smiled. "Sorry, _Wren. _

She nodded approvingly. "That's better." She rubbed her eyes, trying to appear tired, but really re-gathering her strength, suspecting that she would need it. "Where am I?"

"Ah, our pride and joy. A little city underground. Keeps us safe from the machines. You stumbled around near our exit; that's how I saw you. And I took you back to the entrance. We keep them in separate places; you can't come through the exit and you can't go out the entrance. It's a rule; follow it if you don't want to get shot." He smiled as he said the words.

She shook her head, acting dizzy, when her mind was actually clearing up quite nicely. "Ok." She said simply.

He chuckled. "You take this well."

She shrugged. "It's my nature."

He smiled and extended a hand. "You want me to show you around?"

She thought about this for a moment, then nodded. "Yeah. Yeah, that would be great."

He grinned and helped her to her feet. "You're going to need to know where the exit is once Claire's done with you." He chuckled. "The kid's been desperate for some answers; I'd start running if I were you."

The words were a joke, but to Wren, they were hardly funny. She bit back the bile that was rising in her throat.

"Where are my things?" She asked at last. "Like, my knife, my radio…?"

"Ah." He abruptly changed course. "Yes, I suppose it would be best if you met him first."

"Him?"

"Micah. He snagged your radio at first opportunity; he might have a question or two for you on how it works." He thought about this for a moment, then added, "Though I suppose the kid will know _everything _about that device by now."

They took a right, followed by a left, then another right. Two doors down the hall. Wren memorized the path exactly, though it would only take her back to the place she'd woken up in. However, having any amount of information was always helpful, and knowing this little trivial fact helped her feel a little better.

"Micah?"

A young boy was standing over a desk, his back turned to them. "Not now, Sylar." He snapped.

"She's awake."

The boy turned around instantly. He had curly, black hair, and his skin was dark, but not extremely dark. A smile lit up his face.

"At last!" He exclaimed, at Wren's side in a second. "You have no idea how badly we needed that radio-sorry for snatching it from you, by the way- even if we don't know the exact channels others might be communicating on." His eyes turned to hers. "I don't suppose you know any of the frequencies the others are on?"

Wren shook her head, lying through her teeth. The last thing she wanted was for these machines to find out about John Connor. "No, I'm afraid not."

"Hmm. Pity."

"I kept the radio around… you know. Just in case." Wren was a good liar, and she knew what made a good lie. She allowed her eyes to stare into a nonexistent distance, letting a tear leak onto her cheek, as though she'd been alone for so long, in an unforgiving desert…

It convinced Micah; he looked at her pityingly. But Sylar was staring at her with a strange expression.

"I understand." Micah said kindly.

Sylar looked at them both for a minute, then said, "Maybe the tour wasn't such a good idea, Wren. You look a little tired. We should probably get Claire to talk to you before you pass out again."

Wren nodded calmly, but she was inwardly panicking. She hadn't realized how much she was depending on that little amount of time in between the questions, the time she was going to use to think of a plan.

And then she saw it. A gleam of silver.

A knife. More importantly, _her _knife.

She snatched it quickly, pretending to stumble as she slid it into her pant pocket. Sylar helped her back to her feet as she smiled, looking embarrassed. Neither he nor Micah had noticed her theft.

Sylar took her down the hall again, two lefts, a right, another left, and three rights.

A little gasp escaped her lips; she couldn't help it. The room was large, though she was hardly able to call it a room. It was more of a cave, really, though the walls were dirt instead of stone, like a large, round tunnel. There were many people inside, talking with each other, reading books, or just enjoying the fact that it was slightly cooler in here than it was everywhere else.

"She's awake."

The two words that came from Sylar's mouth made Wren jump. It brought the situation into complete focus.

"Thank goodness." A young woman, with blonde hair, stood up. She smiled warmly at Wren. "It's good to see you up at last, Wren."

Wren felt her eyes narrow unconsciously. They were all machines. Even this 'Sylar'._ Especially_ this 'Sylar'. Somehow, she hated this fact.

Claire came over to her, gesturing for her and Sylar to sit down. They did so, and she sat down across from them.

Her eyes locked on Wren's, her gaze intense. "Listen, Wren. We have a few questions. It's understandable, given the fact that, as far as we know, you're the last human alive."

The words made her heart lurch; had the machines found John Connor? Had they killed him at long last?

Her hand slowly reached for the knife. No. She wouldn't believe it. She wouldn't.

"That's one of the questions we have." Claire continued, oblivious to the internal struggle Wren was facing. "We need to know if there are any others out there. Any more humans."

The knife was in her hand and across Claire's throat in the blink of an eye. Everyone gasped, and there was one or two screams, but Wren just leapt back and watched.

The slash across Claire's neck healed slowly.

"I knew it." Wren hissed, the knife held ready. She backed away into the wall, keeping any threat of ambush eliminated. "You stay away from me, you pathetic excuse for a toaster! Or I'll rip those chips right out of your head!"

Sylar had his hands raised, though his eyes were wide. "Wren, please, you're safe…"

"I'm so sure!" Venom filled her words. "What? Don't mind sacrificing one of your little Terminator buddies so that you can convince me that you're on my side? I've got news for you; no normal human can rip apart a Terminator with their bare hands! You're a pretty pathetic excuse for intelligence, let me tell you!"

Sylar turned considerably paler, the blood rushing from his face. "Ah."

Claire turned to Sylar. "You ripped apart a Terminator _in front of her?"_ She demanded. "_When she didn't know?_"

Sylar shrugged sheepishly. "The stupid thing came into out area. What else was I supposed to do?"

"And you haven't explained abilities to her yet?" Claire continued, her words a hiss.

"SHUT UP!" Wren snapped. "You want me to lead you to the others, don't you? That's the only reason I'm still alive, right?"

Claire and Sylar just blinked as they were forced out of their conversation, their focus returning to Wren once more.

"Well let me tell you this, you waffle irons. John Connor lives!" She sneered. "And if that doesn't strike fear into your metallic excuses for hearts, then you're all idiots."

Her eyes locked on Sylar. "And I'll never take you to him. Never."

She turned the knife towards herself and plunged it into her heart.

Surprise filled Sylar's eyes as he raced to Wren's side. She collapsed to the ground, and he caught her before her head could hit. "Oh, shit!"

"What did she do that for?" Claire demanded, running to Wren's side.

"My blood is yours." Wren spat. Crimson splattered on her lips and into Sylar's face as she spoke. "Because John Connor will be the death of you!"

Sylar looked at her worriedly. "Someone get Penelope in here!"

No one moved, so he turned to face then and roared, "THAT MEANS NOW!"

Three people ran into each other in the following dash to find the person he asked for.

Darkness came to claim Wren, and she welcomed it. Pride filled her. She'd always thought she'd be too scared if this time came. But it had worked; she had stopped the machines from killing John Connor. She could never lead them to him. Never. And the machines would die.

"WREN!" Sylar snapped, shaking her slightly. "Please, come on, Wren, stay with me! You're not dying, you hear me?"

But Wren_ didn't_ hear him. She was gone.

* * *

The bed was occupied again. And, once more, it was a human who occupied it.

But this time, there was a dark figure next to the bed, hovering protectively over the body, watching each rise and fall of her chest, anxiety creeping in his features when it seemed it would no longer rise.

"You know Derek is saying you've fallen in love with her." The voice whispered behind him. "He's making little kissy faces in this direction."

"Derek is an idiot." Sylar replied simply. "And I have no use for idiots."

Claire sat down next to him. "But there _is_ something different about you. You never sat next to her before. You just left her alone. What changed?"

Sylar sighed and gently placed his hand on the unconscious human's arm. "In my book, anyone willing to stab themselves to keep a secret is worthy of respect."

Claire raised an eyebrow, amusement coloring her words. "Respect? This human earned your respect?" She chuckled. "Well, when she wakes up, you can tell her she holds the record. Two days!"

"She's been here longer then that."

"And she's been awake for less."

Sylar had no argument for that. He kept his eyes on Wren as she whimpered in her sleep.

Claire raised the other eyebrow, turning to Sylar.

"Bad dreams." He explained. "She has quite a few of them."

He lifted the small doll and placed it in her hand, closing her fingers around it.

"She still has a dolly?"

Sylar rolled his eyes. "She's been running around a desert for weeks, and had a Terminator on her tail for the past few days. Forgive her for being human."

"Aw, don't tell me _you _have a dolly, Sylar?" Claire teased. She knew he would take it from her, though he would have sliced the throat of anyone else.

He threw a half-hearted blow in her direction, and she side-stepped it easily. "Everyone needs something to stay human. I have a mouse in a cage. What about you?"

She looked at him, surprised. Sylar had a pet?

She thought for a moment, then confessed, "I still have my old cheerleading outfit."

"The one I ruined?" He asked incredulously. As far as he knew, her cheerleading outfit was completely covered in blood, most of it belonging to Claire.

She laughed. "No. A different one."

For a moment, there was silence; they were both lost in their own memories.

"No…" Wren's little mummer startled them both out of their past.

Sylar sighed heavily. "It's late, Claire. You should get some sleep."

"We need a guard."

"Forget it. I've done guard duty 24/7 since we got here; I think I'm entitled to a break."

"It's you or Derek."

Sylar winced and let out a deep sigh. "Couldn't you find someone else?"

"You know perfectly well that hardly anyone has the fighting capabilities the two of you have."

He rolled his eyes and stood, gently closing Wren's hand tighter over her doll. "All right, all right. I'm going."

He walked out of the room, ignoring Derek as he grinned at Sylar.

The others were still laughing as he walked up to Tracy.

"Guard duty tonight, Trace." He whispered. "Mind letting me out the entrance? Just this once?"

She nodded, knowing that Derek's goons would be waiting for Sylar at the exit, just like last time. Sylar had to tolerate their mockery, their blows to his face. He had to deal with the constant electrical shocks, the burns, the ice, everything.

Because Derek had been right. He was on 'probation'.

Only it was Derek's fault, not Sylar's.

He still justified it that way. That it had all been Derek's fault there was a new grave in the city.

The last survivor had instantly fallen in with Derek's crowd. Desperate to prove himself, he was constantly provoking Sylar, making remarks about Gabriel, about his abilities, about his killer's past.

His name was Tom. A nice enough guy, before these wars. A normal person, with a hidden ability. Nothing to get excited about.

But Sylar wanted that ability. He wanted it so very badly. And Tom's constant ridicule made things so much harder, made it difficult to refrain from killing him.

And then, one night, he'd snapped. Just like that, there was fresh blood on Sylar's hands.

Sylar's mind went back to that night, back when everything had changed, back when the war was made real in his mind…

* * *

_"You really shouldn't be out here alone at night." _

_"You threatening me, Gabriel?" Tom sneers._

_I look at him pityingly. For all of his power, Tom is an idiot. Nothing more. "Only if it needs to be."_

_He barks out a laugh. "As if you could hurt me."_

_The area near his hand gets darker suddenly, and I can feel its pull, despite how incredibly small it is._

_"What?" He asks. The hesitant expression on my face isn't my fault; I never wanted it to be there. "Too scared? Talk the talk, but won't walk the walk?"_

_He holds up his hand, where the small black hole gets larger. I cringe, but not because I'm afraid of his power, not because I'm afraid of him. _

_Because I'm afraid _for _him. _

_"Believe me when I say that it's best for you to leave." I tell him. I'm not afraid of those black holes, even if they're the only thing that can kill me. I can hold onto this world long enough to kill him. I know I can. But I've promised; no more murder. It has to end somewhere, and now, with machines owning the planet, seems as good a time as any._

_"You _are _threatening me!" He cackles. "You know what that means?"_

_His mouth is right next to my ear as he whispers, "_Probable cause."

_The black hole increases in size, and the walls start to buckle. I hold them up, but it's not enough._

_"Stop this." I hiss at him. "You're going to get us all killed!"_

_He just grins. "No, Sylar. I'm going to get _you _killed. I'm tired of you. Sick and tired of having to watch my back, day after day, hour after hour. It's about time someone got rid of you, and it looks like I'm the person to do it!"_

_"I SAID NOW, TOM!" The strain on my telekinesis is too much. I'm starting to collapse from the pressure. If this was a normal building, or outside, even, I wouldn't worry. But these are _tunnels, _and tunnels collapse._

_He just laughs._

_Laughs at _me.

_Promise or not, this asshole is going down. _

_I allow the black hole to pull me towards him and clamp my hand on his throat. _

_"You think it's funny now, Tom?" I demand, tightening my grip. Lack of oxygen makes him lose control, and the black hole dies. "DO YOU THINK IT'S FUNNY NOW?"_

_I'm all but screaming at him. I throw him to the floor, disgusted. I'm sick of him, of Derek, of all these idiots who think that they can mess with me because I've made a 'promise'._

_When he looks up at me, his eyes are sparkling with a dark, malicious hatred. Crimson dribbles down his lip in a small stream._

_"Hilarious." He spits. Blood splatters from his lips. _

_I can't help myself. I kick him in the ribs once, just for good measure._

_"Do you think this is a joke, Tom? This is a _tunnel. _If this collapses, it's not me you have to worry about, but everyone else here! Do you _want _to be guilty of _genocide?_"_

_Tom glowers at me. He knows I'm right, but he can never admit it. To admit it would be weak._

_I whirl around and walk away from him, but before I can do anything, he speaks again._

_"You're an asshole, you know that?"_

_I bark out a laugh. "That's funny; I was just thinking the same about you."_

_"You think that you're so tough, Gabriel? You run from every serious fight out there. You have to kill helpless women who have fooled themselves into thinking they love you." _

_I freeze. Not even Tom would go there. He wouldn't. He couldn't._

_His tone is smug as he continues; he knows this is my weak point, my Achilles Heel. "You have to kill idiots who think there's something good left in you. Like, oh, what's her name? Elle?"_

_Something flies from my throat; a deep, horrible snarl that surprises even me. I whirl around and launch a radioactive blast in his direction. The blow is intercepted by a swirl of darkness._

_Tom laughs. The fight is in his glittering eyes, now; he's desperate for a chance to kill me. _

_He has no idea what he's gotten himself into._

_I'm next to him in a split second. Light flares on my hands, radioactive poison tainting the air around us. I bring them towards his throat as a black hole opens behind me, growing larger by the second._

_The radioactivity starts to burn his skin, and Tom screams. I'm far past caring about my promises, and I'm far past mercy. He's chosen death, and he must accept that choice._

_I grip his collar and throw him to the ground, bringing my fist to his face, again and again. Blood dribbles out of his nose._

_He kicks me in the stomach, his elbow catching my face. I stumble back as he scrambles to his feet, the black holes opening on his hands, pulling me towards him._

_Another snarl, harsher than the first, rips its way from my throat. My vision is red, and there's a metallic tang in my mouth. I'm so furious I can barely control it. _

_Tom goes flying backwards, and I hear a rib snap as he's thrown into the rock sides of the tunnel. The world shakes around us; these walls can't put up with much more._

_But they won't have to. This is almost over._

_Tom screams as a line of crimson appears on his forehead. _

_

* * *

_

_Red stains my hands. I'm not moving. I'm just sitting, with my back against the wall, staring at Tom's limp form. He's dead. He's dead and _I _killed him. _

_Now that the anger has died, there is nothing. I can think clearly, and I remember why I was trying not to kill him. Because I know what it's like to be out in the world, alone, thinking that you're the last of your kind, the last of your species. And I can't go back there. I can't. _

_But… if I keep doing this… if what happened with Tom repeats itself… I'll be forced back there again. I'll be alone. Forever._

_So… I have to leave. I have to leave this place and never come back. For their safety._

_I stand up, my plan complete. This can't happen anymore. I'll leave. I'll be alone out in that world, but I'll know it won't be forever, because they'll be safe here. No machine could find this place; not with Micah watching it. And they have Derek._

_The thought makes me shiver, but I know that Derek is a good fighter, despite out differences. He'll be able to protect them. Probably better than I could._

_I run. I run to my area of the tunnels, and I grab the one thing I own; a large knife. I look at the little creature in the cage next to my bed. I sigh; no way he can come. I'll have to leave him somewhere visible and hope that someone will take care of him. It's all I have._

_I lift the mouse's cage up and he protests quietly, running around crazily. I smile; I'll miss that, I suppose. But mice have an even shorter life span than humans do, so I'll have to get used to losing mice eventually._

"_A-hem."_

_I flinch and freeze, then act completely natural as I turn around. I hide the knife behind my back. _

"_Oh. Hello, Claire."_

"_Hey, Sylar." She replies casually. She rubs one eye tiredly. "What are you doing up this late?"_

_I shrug. "Changing shifts from guard duty."_

"_Uh-huh." She isn't buying it. She never buys it. The stupid cheerleader always knows when I'm lying, even when she's exhausted. _

_Then again, Claire always was a good actor. I just don't realize how good until all trace of her 'exhaustion' disappears and her hand comes out from behind her back._

_It's soaked in blood._

_I sigh. "You found the body." It isn't a question._

"_Yes." She answers._

"_You're going to kick me out. Too late; I'm already going." I relax and let the hand holding the knife to come out in front of me. It's not a threat, and she knows it. _

_I turn back to my room, as though I'm still trying to pack, when in reality I'm waiting for her to leave. _

_She stays where she is. _

"_Tell me, Sylar. Just answer one thing, and I'll go."_

_I sigh and turn to her, acting exasperated. "What is it?"_

_Her eyes lock on mine. "Why did you kill him?"_

_The question throws me, but I won't let her know that. I hurriedly allow the old killer attitude to take over._

_I shrug, as though I'm uninterested. "The guy pissed me off too much. Besides, I wanted his ability."_

_She nods slowly, understandingly. "All right."_

_I nod once and turn back, deciding that it may be a good idea to take my jacket, in case I ever get out of this desert. _

"_Now tell me the truth." _

_I swallow; this has caught me even more off guard than the first question. "That _was _the truth."_

"_I think not."_

_I turn to face her and try to leave, but she'd blocking the exit._

_I glower at her. "Out of the way, Claire."_

_She looks at me, and my mouth goes dry. The kid has a way of staring straight through you, into your deepest fears and secrets. _

"_The truth." She replies, crossing her arms._

_We try to stare each other down for a minute, but my glare does not last long. Eventually, I look down._

"_He made a comment about Elle. I've put up with enough from that asshole then to just let that slide. Besides, he was begging for a fight, so I gave it to him."_

_The talk of him wanting a fight is a pretty pathetic attempt at bravery, I'll admit. But I'm desperate. I don't want to talk about this, to talk about Elle._

_Claire sighs. "Do you regret it?"_

_I think for a moment. "If he was still alive, I might apologize. But I don't regret it. Not enough to want him back."_

_She nods slowly. _

_I wait for her to allow me out the exit, but she stays where she is._

"_You're not going anywhere, Sylar." She orders. "You're staying here. You may be a killer, but we need you. You're the best fighter we have now."_

_She turns and walks out._

"_And what's going to stop me from leaving anyway?" I call after her._

_She turns to me. _

"_When have you ever been needed before?"_

_And she walks away. _


	2. Convincing

**A/N: Sorry for the late update.**

Wren felt tears fall down her face as her eyes opened. It took her a moment to realize why she was crying.

But when she remembered, the tears kept coming. She'd tried so hard, been so desperate, done her best, but the machines just brought her back, they just kept her alive…

She sobbed; she didn't care if they saw her tears now. They were liars, murderers, they were going to kill her whether she cried or not. Emotions were the only thing she had left; the only thing that proved she was _human._

She felt something warm touch her cheek and sobbed louder as soft, comforting words were whispered in her ear. Empty promises and lies, all designed to gain trust, only to kill when trust has served its purpose. They meant nothing to her; they were just an echo of what humans really were.

"Wren…? Are you all right…?"

The voice sounded worried, but what was worry to a machine? What was compassion to an oven, or pity to a toaster? It was emotion, an unsolvable riddle that had eluded machines for years, and would for centuries to come.

"Wren, it's all right, you're safe now. We're not going to hurt you…"

Lies and treachery and deceit! That was all these things knew of human thought! It was all they could comprehend! They were all _liars!_

Wren curled her hand into a fist and threw it towards the voice. She heard a satisfying _crack!_ as it connected; the fact that she was not in unbearable agony proved that nothing of _hers _was broken.

A small, dry chuckle sounded behind her. "I suppose I deserved that one." The voice admitted.

Wren didn't dignify it with a response. She folded her arms across her chest. The time for tears was over; now she turned to stubborn, harsh, violent, _human _anger.

"Can't talk anymore?" He teased. She knew who it was; or rather, who it claimed to be. _Sylar, _the 'man' who had destroyed a Terminator with his bare hands.

"I don't have anything to say to you." She replied bitterly. "So save yourself the trouble and kill me now."

"Now why would we do that?" His voice was almost kind. Almost.

She didn't reply.

"Wren…" He sighed heavily. "Look, it's been a long time since any of us has seen a… well, a human. I was so used to everyone knowing about us that… I didn't… didn't think about how it would look to someone like you. I'm sorry."

Her lips formed a tight line. Her eyes narrowed, though she was still facing the wall, not daring to look at him. Because if she looked at him, she might be fooled into thinking there may be some truth in his words. She could not fall into that trap. She wouldn't.

"I know you probably don't believe me. But could you just try for a moment?"

"No."

He sighed again, and for a moment, there was silence.

Wren shifted into a slightly more comfortable position, and her hand closed around something. She recognized it instantly, but couldn't understand.

She looked at the little doll. Probably another trap. Another lie. Another way to gain her trust.

That didn't stop the tears, though.

"Wren? Hey, are you all right?" he placed a hand on her arm gently, and she threw it off.

He swallowed as he saw the doll. "Oh… I just sort of… found it in your backpack."

Wren tried to choke off the tears, but it wasn't working. The doll stared at her, watching her cry with an innocent, ignorant smile on its face.

"I'm sorry if it was… the wrong thing…"

The words sounded strange and hollow. He seemed so unused to emotions that he couldn't _possibly _be human. Emotion confused him. It was strange, unfamiliar territory.

Just like a machine.

* * *

Sylar didn't leave Wren's side. He knew how she would take it; she'd think he was guarding her, watching her, making sure she didn't try and kill herself again. Well, he hardly wanted her to kill herself, true, but she wasn't exactly a _prisoner. _

It just wouldn't be so easy trying to convince _her _of that.

It wasn't very easy for him to be sympathetic; he'd spent so many years suppressing emotions that it became difficult to experience them again. Of course, they'd all come back when he thought he was the last person alive, but he was still a killer. He still couldn't look on his past with regret; it was still too unfamiliar.

Still he tried, saying comforting words and empty promises of how everything was all right. She would never believe that everything would be ok, but he remained persistent.

Finally, after a few hours of tying to bargain with her, trying to get her to sit up, to eat something, to talk to him, she turned around to face him.

He smiled as genuinely as he could manage.

She sighed heavily. Her tears had dried long ago, and the doll had been shoved into her pocket. She sat up slowly, wearing an expression of unmistakable loathing.

He continued to smile weakly. He waited for her to speak.

She glowered at him for a moment, then gave up, asking, "So, it's still 'Sylar', right?"

"Yes."

She sighed heavily. "So… what now?"

He raised an eyebrow. "That's up to you."

She rolled her eyes. "I already told you; no matter what you say, no matter what you do to me, I'll never tell you where John Connor is. _Never._"

"I never asked you to."

She glared at him. "Not yet."

He thought about this for a moment. "All right, Wren. I'll make you a deal. I won't breathe a word about John Connor. I won't ask you about any of the other humans out there."

Her eyes narrowed suspiciously. "And what do you get in return?"

"I want you to at least consider the possibility that I'm not a machine. Give me one day- just twenty-four hours-to try and convince you that we're not… toasters, as you put it."

She raised an eyebrow. "And if I don't take this deal?"

Sylar considered this. He hadn't wanted to resort to this, but desperate times…

He sighed. "Claire will kill me, but I think… I think it's for the best."

He stood, retrieved something from the other side of the room, and sat down next to her once more. He held the object out for her.

It was a gun.

"A little easier than a knife." Sylar explained. "Now, you and I both know that it would be useless against me. But there's still that option; the one you tried to take earlier. Now, correct me if I'm wrong, but I think that a bullet to the brain would make any information you have useless."

Wren stared at the weapon. Her hands began to shake.

"We wouldn't be able to bring you back. You'd stay dead this time; no return, no way to betray the humans."

Her trembling hands reached for the gun, her fingers closing around the cold metal.

"If there's absolutely no doubt in your mind that we're all machines and nothing more, then take it."

She did as told, bringing the gun closer to her, staring at it. She quickly made sure it was loaded. This was it. Her way out.

Sylar's heart was drumming crazily as he tried to find exactly the right words to say. He was playing a dangerous game, and Wren could easily die because of it.

Wren brought the gun to the side of her hand, still shaking. A determined light shone in her eyes as she pressed it ever closer.

"But if there's a possibility that we're not lying…" Sylar continued. "If there's the faintest chance that we're just like you, people who are on your side, people who are fighting the machines…"

She closed her eyes.

"Isn't that one little bit of hope worth living for?"

For a moment, neither of them spoke. Sylar didn't even breathe. They just sat there, waiting for that one decision.

Finally, Wren's lips opened, and two words slipped out.

"Twenty-four hours?"

Sylar nodded, though her eyes were still closed. "Yes."

"And no one will ask me about John Connor?"

"No one."

Her eyes opened, though the gun remained firmly pressed to the side of her head. "And if I decide that you _are _machines?"

"Then I'll give you the gun again."

She looked at him. "Tell me. If you're human, why wouldn't you just let me out of here? You don't seem to want me dead; why wouldn't you just let me go? Set me free?"

Sylar smiled wryly. "You're good."

"That's why I'm alive." Her finger tightened on the trigger. "For now."

He sighed heavily. "All right. If, by the end of the day, you don't have enough doubt to stay, I'll personally show you where the exit is."

"But you won't show me where it is _now._"

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because I'm stubborn, just like most humans out there."

Wren had to smile; she couldn't stop herself. She lowered the gun and handed it back to him.

"All right. You have twenty-four hours." She crossed her arms. "Convince me."

Sylar smiled. He was really starting to like this 'Wren'.

* * *

"Are you _insane?"_

Sylar shrugged. "Maybe."

Claire shot a death glare at him. "You gave a _gun _to a person who was _suicidal?_"

Sylar rolled his eyes. "She's not 'suicidal'…"

Claire waited for him to realize the stupidity of his statement.

"All right, so, _technically, _she's suicidal! But it worked, didn't it? We've got twenty-four hours before she demands to be shown to the exit, and that's a lot better than keeping her prisoner!"

"Twenty-four hours? It'll take weeks! That girl is too paranoid for her own good!"

"It's kept her _alive, _hasn't it?"

Claire sighed. "Look. I just… I don't want the _one human _we've found to _die_, all right?"

Sylar looked at her understandingly. "It's all right, Claire. I'll handle it. She'll be fine."

Claire chewed her lip. "All right, Sylar. We'll do this _your _way. But if she dies, or if she kills herself, I'm personally blaming _you, _understood?"

Sylar smiled and nodded. "Yes, ma'am."

She rolled her eyes and walked away.

* * *

Sylar had said that he would be back in 'just a minute'. Wren figured that meant sixty seconds, give or take.

And there was a lot a person could do in sixty seconds.

As soon as the door had closed and Wren was left alone, she searched the room. The gun was the only visible weapon at first glance, but there was a rock or two on the floor that looked sharp enough to slice through skin. She tucked one into her pocket. She was unable to take the gun- that theft would be noticed- but old habits died hard. Despite the fact that the rock would likely be useless, she felt better having it with her.

After that was finished, she sat down and tried to look innocent. She was very good at that.

Sylar entered the room a few seconds later. She looked expectantly up at him.

Sylar chuckled. "All right, Wren. Give up the rock."

She raised an eyebrow. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

He rolled his eyes. "I was just in the hallway, you know. I could hear you walking around."

"No human could hear that." She pointed out.

"True. But I'm not… _entirely_ human. I'll explain; after all, I have twenty-four hours. But the point still stands; could you please put the rock back?"

She glowered at him and pulled the rock out of her pocket.

He smiled. "Not that _I_ really care about it, but I really don't want you to get hurt."

She rolled her eyes and changed the subject. "Are we just going to sit here all day?"

His smile widened. "No, no we are not. Just for a little longer; just while I explain what we are."

Wren placed her chin in her hands, listening intently. Now this should be interesting.

Sylar sat down next to her, and she moved a little farther away from him. He smiled and allowed the action without comment. "Long before the machines took over, there were… special people out there. People could do… strange things. Extraordinary things."

"Such as?"

He smiled wryly. "Well, such as healing from a gash across the throat."

She raised an eyebrow, remembering her reaction to Claire.

"Or telekinesis." He continued. "Or telepathy. Radioactivity. Technopathy. Pyrokenisis. Manipulation of Electricity. Painting the future. Extreme strength."

Skepticism was written across her face. "Uh-huh. And these magic people, did they ride unicorns and spread rainbows across the world?"

Sylar smirked. "If you don't believe me, see for yourself."

The rocks that were scattered across the floor begin to rise into the air. Slowly, they hovered above the ground, drifting towards each other.

Wren's eyes were wide as she stared at them, watching as they floated across the room. Gently, delicately, she touched one. It remained where it was, unmovable, solid.

She sucked in a deep breath, then forced her face to go blank. "This isn't possible."

"No. It's not." Sylar replied. With a wave of his hand, the rocks clattered to the ground, scattering away.


End file.
